Have Faith In Apathy
by HollywoodGirl15
Summary: Flack's lost and hurt after Jess, and doesn't plan on changing. When he's assigned a new Detective, will he admit that maybe having some hope isn't all that bad? Flack/OC


_**Authors Note/Disclaimer: I do NOT own anyone from CSI:NY, they belong to their own selves and the writers. This is cross posted on another site underneath the pen name 'cityxlights'. I assure you both accounts are mine. Feedback is welcomed, even flamers (:**_

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**_My feet pounded hard against the cold, harsh pavement of New York City. The rain sloshed around my boots, the sidewalks reflecting New York's night lights perfectly. The suspect ran down the street, glancing back every once in a while as I spotted a gun swinging from his hands. I kicked myself into full gear, ignoring my cell phone buzzing in my pocket or my radio going off. Sharp intakes of air, feet pounding against pavement harder than ever, the criminal coming into view. People scattered all of the sidewalk, normal reactions for routine crimes. Glancing back, the perpetrator made an attempt to push himself harder, stumbling over his own two feet. Two long strides and closing in. Gun drawn, pointed in front of me as my eyes shut momentarily. I was closing in on the guy; 200 feet, 100 feet, tackle.

The suspect and I tumbled to the wet ground, my gun already pulled out and pointed at him as I sat across his waist. The guy thrashed around for a minute or two, and I clicked the safety off on my gun. He had slightly shaggy hair, his coat ripped and torn in a million places. He looked like an average bum off the street, but the large amounts of cocaine sticking out of his pocket proved otherwise. The suspect froze, his hands thrown above him in a sign of surrender. "I told you to make this easy!"

"Go eat some donuts!" he snapped, and I rolled my eyes at him. Pulling my handcuffs out of my back pocket, I made sure to keep my foot between his shoulder blades. I roughly yanked him up, hooking the handcuffs around his wrists tightly, then proceeded to shove him towards the cop car that had pulled up. Danny rolled down his window, flashing me a grin. I raised my eyebrow at him, feebly trying to get the water spots off of the suit jacket I was wearing.

"You getting' in, Don?" Danny's heavily accented voice came from the drivers seat, and he was answered by a simple shake of my head. It was raining hard out, but that simple fact didn't matter to me. I heard Danny's window go up, and watched as the cop car slowly pulled away. Reluctantly, I lifted my feet and tried not to concentrate on the squishing noises my pant legs made as I headed down the street.

This was all routine; catch a criminal towards the end of my shift and walk to my apartment. A scoff escaped me at the realization that I had just called that place my apartment. It wasn't a home, and it hadn't been since Jess had been gone. No other girls allowed in, and barley me let out.

Since the whole Jess ordeal, I usually locked myself away in my apartment. It was merely out of torture, I was beginning to think. Each time I entered the room, Jess's perfume wafted over the pillows, couch, sheets, coats, anything she had touched.

Her perfume was fading fast, but it was just enough to make the room seem like a ghost. Everything reminded me of Jess, and it wouldn't stop. I could've panicked and moved out, but that would've been taking the coward way out. Don Flack was no coward, and I wasn't bound to run away from every thing.

Sam had tried to be there for me, occasionally dropping by the apartment and cooking dinner. As I glanced in the mirror, I realized just how important it was when Sam dropped by; my bulging arms had decreased, small muscles where the rather large ones normally sat. I had lost a lot of weight, and Sid had assured me all of this was normal with depression.

Did I have depression? That was something I wasn't sure about. I didn't want to think that there was something wrong with my emotions, something that required the aid of pills to stop. Drugs were an addiction, and if my emotions were really that out of whack, did I stand a chance against them? That wasn't something I was willing to experiment with, so I opted for dealing with it by myself.

Sam tried to get me to go to group a few times with her, stating that there was a group right after her dedicated to depression and things of that nature. I refused each time, holding up my hands and telling her I was completely fine. The guilt built inside each time Sam gave me her worried look, and I knew our rolls were reversed. I was always the one who was worried about her, yelling and screaming for her to get everything back in order. Now she had turned the tables on me, and I was beginning to realize just how hard it really was to let someone change you.

All of my movements were robotic since Jess, and I wasn't sure that I really cared. Everything was mundane, and nothing offered any comfort or sympathy. Once happy laughter was now hollow whenever someone said something to me, and it only came out when forced to. The squad always tried to pry into my business, asking me repeatedly throughout my shift how I was feeling. Responses were a nod only, and it was something that nobody was too enthused about.

Retracing six steps back, I came to a stop in front of my apartment complex. My window was dark as usual, and I opted for the stair climb tonight. Taking all eight flights of stairs, I pushed the door open that led to the apartments. Eight long strides, and I was in front of apartment 156A, pushing the key into the lock before turning it. The wooden door creaked open, and unwelcome silence flooded the area.

The door shutting offered a bit of noise, and I followed the all too familiar path to my living room. Pushing the on button on the remote, the room instantly filled with light from the television. The ending of the Rangers game was on, but I didn't bother to pay attention to the score.

Throwing myself heavily down onto the couch, I bit at my lip absentmindedly. My body ached, my legs sore from the short distance of running. Lazily reaching over my head, I opened the cooler that was seated next to my bed. My hand hit the cold ice that didn't melt yet, and I pulled out a bottle of Corona.

Lifting the bottle effortlessly to my lips, I allowed the bitter alcohol to drown my problems out. It stung for a moment, but then the calming effects of the alcohol washed it away. My body instantly relaxed, my muscles starting to loose their aching feeling.

Rubbing at my eyes, I let out a loud sigh. My stomach twisted in response to the alcohol that had been chugged down. The Corona made my stomach tighten into knots, and my arms absentmindedly wrapped around it, keeping the pain in.

Was it wrong or right? I had no clue what the answer was but it made me feel better. It made the bitter memory of Jess being gone a little sweeter as I tried to convince myself this was how she felt. How she felt when I let her down, not driving near fast enough to get her help in time. My stomach gave another clench as tears sprung to my eyes.

Like clockwork, the memories flooded back to me in huge waves. They nauseated me even more than I already was, and I reluctantly pushed myself up. My feet carried me to the bathroom in the dark, and my stomach gave me another warning. Pushing myself harder, I made two long strides to the bathroom. Kneeling down in front of my porcelain friend, I emptied the memories and alcohol from my stomach.

I curled up into a ball on the floor of my bathroom, the cool tiles pressing against my cheek as I shut my eyes. The bathroom needed a paint job; the white theme reminded me entirely too much of the hospital. My stomach gave me another clench, warning me not to bring the memories up. I obeyed silently, squeezing my eyes closed.

This was another normal routine; I'd come home, drink a bottle of Corona, greet my porcelain friend, then lay on the bathroom floor until I passed out. It didn't matter that most of the food I ate throughout the day was out of my system, I was rarely hungry anyways. I only ate to get the crew off of my back, and to shy away from Stella's stern look.

They didn't get it, and they never would. Jess laid on my conscious heavily, weighing me down like an anchor to a sinking boat. I didn't drive her fast enough, I didn't yell at the doctors to help her loud enough. I didn't everything possible, and now she was gone.

I closed my eyes tighter, willing the memories away so that I could get at least a little bit of sleep tonight. Insomnia had accompanied the 'depression', and it wasn't something that I welcomed at all. I was lucky to get at least two hours of sleep a night, and I had become dependant on coffee and energy drinks. Everything was an addiction, everything was a strive for normality.

I felt myself relaxing, and I loosened my grip on my waist. I stopped squeezing my eyes shut, and let out a shaky breath of air I had been holding in. Everything started feeling heavy, and all of my thoughts and memories slipped away for the moment. For now, I was a victim of sleep.


End file.
